


Phone Calls To Him

by PaperThoughts



Series: Phone Calls to You [1]
Category: Shameless (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:34:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperThoughts/pseuds/PaperThoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time he called him, he didn't even remember picking up the phone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Call

The first time he called him, he didn't even remember picking up the phone. Josh was on his way over, he was sure of that but he sat on the small bed in his shitty apartment in east Jesus nowhere, fingers clicking buttons he didn't give them permission to. His hand gripped the phone with white knuckles, breath coming in tight pulls as the call connected. A raspy voice crackled through the connection and he swallowed on impulse. 

“What?”

“It doesn't matter that you've never told me.” He felt the words tumble out before he knew he was saying them and the silence on the other end spoke volumes on how well it was received. He steadied his breath, eyes squeezing closed with a mouthed ' _fuck_. 

“I mean...I know. Even if you never said how you fucking feel, I understood.” His head tilted to the side, little wisps of memories circling the empty space in front of him. “I know that you love me. And I know you hate it so much that sometimes it makes you hate me.” 

He laid his hand on his knees, fingers spread out as the quiet breathing on the other end signaled he was at least listening. 

“I know you think I'm childish and that I'm always asking for the world from you. But...I also know you gave me as much as you could.” 

A lump pressed at the back of his throat as he looked up, watching his own life in front of him like a ghostly movie on repeat, lying on his back on the bloody rocks, sucking in air after it was punched out of him. 

“I know that you're terrified. And I know that you think what you're doing will protect you. Protect us. I know you're doing what you think is best.” 

His thumb unconsciously rubbed over the small scar on his temple, tracing the white line with slowly closing eyes. 

“I'm not calling to ask you for anything. I'm not going to beg you to leave her or to shout anything from a rooftop. I'm just calling...fuck I don't know why I'm calling.” He rubbed his hand furiously over his reddening face, legging jiggling up and down in nervousness as the silence on the other end threatened to pull up that same disappointed feeling Micky seemed to always create. 

“I think I just wanted to hear your voice.” He hated how small his words sounded, letting the phone fall down as his finger clicked the end button. He stared at the black screen for a long time with unblinking eyes, waiting for the tightness in his chest to fade to a manageable pull. 

“Ian..?” His eyes slid up from the phone clutched in his hand to dark eyes staring at him with concern. “Are you ok?” 

He felt himself nod, not sure why he couldn't quite let the phone go. “When did you get here?” 

“You did say 7, right?” And suddenly he remembered the date he had planned weeks ago. “Dinner?” 

“Right...fuck I'm sorry.” He didn't miss the way the other man's eyes fell to his phone, eyes curious. “I was just making a call.” Josh nodded slowly, and Ian stood, pocketing the phone. He knew he wouldn't push. Josh was from a good family with good values. The kind where dirty laundry always stayed hidden and you never said what you felt until you were too drunk to stop yourself or to pissed to care. If he wasn't so unlike Mickey in every other way he would almost have thought they were the same. 

As their hands slid into place, squeezing softly, he couldn't help but quirk a sad smile, hoping like hell Josh didn't notice.


	2. Phone Call 2

The second time he called, it was after a slammed door and harsh words echoing off the plaster. 

"His name is Josh." He stared at his clenched fist, flexing the unused muscles. "I think you'd probably hate him." 

The breathing on the other end sharpened when he muttered out the name. "He works in banking and he drives a Prius. A fucking Prius." He scoffed to himself, slowly relaxing the hand as the line stayed silent. 

"But he's good to me. He lays next to me after we've fucked. He smiles when I walk in the room and he calls me 'Ian'" He traced the seam on his jeans, swallowing tightly. 

"I think he loves me. I can see it sometimes when he looks at me. " Sighing to himself, he pulled at a fraying spot. "I wonder if this is how you felt when I looked at you. Like....you would do anything to stop those words from coming out and destroying everything." 

He jolted when Mickey cleared his throat on the other end, pausing for one horrible moment. Waiting for him to speak but fearing what he might say in the same space. His heartbeat slid back into its normal dull thumptthumpthump when he fell silent. 

"He just stormed out of here. For good reason I guess." He stretched his hand again, staring at the red knuckles. "I never thought I'd be...." 

The emptiness of his apartment pressed at his skull and he ached to knock his fist into the wall if only for the echo. "You take a punch better."

He hung up, ignoring the way his chest felt that little bit lighter, tossing the phone on his unmade bed, still rumpled from earlier. It was funny, before, the line between fucking and fighting was so blurred, he almost never knew the difference. He hadn't wanted to. Hadn't minded the bruising on his hips or the split lips. 

Josh had. 

"Fuck..."


	3. Phone Call 3

The third time his phone called him, it was completely not his fault. Really.

“...-nd who the fuck is 'Mickey'!” Josh was waving his phone around, poking at the touch screen with fire in his still bruised eye. “Because I sure as hell don't know him.”

He opened his mouth to say he's nothing. A no one from his past. He really did. But instead, his traitorous mouth formed the worst combinations of words just shy of 'my wife' or 'my other boyfriend'.

“None of your fucking business.”

And he knew he didn't have a right to be pissed. Especially when Josh had come here with intentions of forgiving him for lashing out with his fists instead of his words the last time they argued. He had to give him that, he wasn't a pussy. He knew he couldn't win in a fight against Ian, yet...he came back and stood toe to toe, yelling about how they didn't 'connect' anymore. 

“I'm your boyfriend, Ian! Of cour-”

“Jesus...” He rolled his eyes and unconsciously took a step back, distancing himself from the word and the look on Josh's face. 

“And yes! You have to get used to that word, you are my _boyfriend_ even though you clearly are doing everything you can to make sure I don't stay.”

He eyed his phone, disinterested, and vaguely wondered if Josh was going to smash it to make a point, when his blood ran cold. The screen that should have been dark, lit up in the familiar call background. He would have known that grouping of letters from 10 miles away. 

'Calling M-i-c-k-e-y.' 

Josh didn't notice his ashen face, frozen in panic, moving the phone around in his expressive gestures, eyes darting everywhere.

“I don't know who taught you it was ok to hit someone when you want them to shut up but its not fucking ok Ian!”

The sound of his name forced him to _move_.He gripped his wrist tightly, prying the phone out of his hand.

“Ian what the fuck!” Josh pushed hard at his chest, tightening the hold he had on the cell. He eyed him like a bomb waiting to go off and it should have made him twinge at the thought of what he'd done. What he'd become. But he was stronger and Josh knew it. The phone clattered to the ground before Josh's back hit the wall, eyes wide and fearful. He scrambled to pick it up, hoping like hell there was some miracle and it hadn't really...

His heart stopped in his chest at the tense breathing on the other line. 

“F-fuck....” He breathed out against the speaker before hitting end, not waiting to see how much of his domestic- fuck he hated that, that was what it was- Mickey had witnessed. His chest pulled in slow, deep gulps of air, eyes wide and staring at the black screen.

“...Holy shit. Its him, isn't it?” He snapped his eyes up to meet Josh's against the wall. And fuck if he didn't look like some unearthly wisdom had just descended on him. 

“What.” He knew his voiced sounded desperate, clutching his phone in his bruised hand. Josh just stared back at him with those damn dark eyes, looking nothing like anyone and yet so fucking disappointed in him that it made his teeth ache. 

“We never stood a chance, did we.” He knew enough when a question wasn't really a question and pressed his lips into a hard line. Josh's eyes turned to stone, looking Ian up and down before he pushed himself off the wall. The door closed behind him with a soft 'click' and he let out the breath he didn't know he'd even been holding in. He slowly sunk to the bed, looking down at his cracked phone with a shuddering breath when it began to vibrate. 

Message: Mickey

He felt like such a pussy for pausing, fucking staring at his phone with something like nervousness in his gut, before clicking the screen to open it. 

_Stop fucking calling me._

His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, steadily ignoring that familiar dismissed feeling Mickey was so good at. He stared at his phone, a dozen responses on his tongue before he stabbed at 'delete' with more force than he intended. 

Fuck he needed a drink.


	4. Phone Call 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is dirty. Be warned.

His fourth call could be blamed on the alcohol or his recently empty bed, but when he wrapped his hand around his cock, it only seemed right to call the man who inspired him to get this goddamn hard. 

“..the fuck? Do you know the damn time?” His voice was rough and sleep infused and fuck if it didn't make him harder, arching his hips up into his hand. 

“Do you know what you did?” His voice is deep and he blames that on the vodka, tipping his head back. He breathes out something like a moan and rolls his thumb across the head of his dick, thighs spreading further apart. “How fucking hard you made me?” 

Mickey made some kind of a sound on the other end, it could have been surprise or anger or desire for all he knew. With Mickey they were rarely exclusive from each other. He twisted his palm, spreading the slick pre-cum over his hardening length, sure his drunk mind would probably regret this in the morning.

“All the fuckin' time...just want to jack off to porn like a normal person but I close my eyes and its just you there” He knew the sound of a belt buckle opening like he knew his family's voices and shit...the breathing was sharper now. 

He swallowed a moan as his eyes slid closed, leaning back against the head of his bed, mind sorting through pictures of Mickey folded over for him. Every single time he'd looked up from on the floor to find Mickey's mouth parted in a moan that could have been his name as he sucked deep and hard around the cock heavy on his tongue. 

“Goddamn you have no idea the thoughts in my head.” His hips snapped up into his palm dangerously.

He nearly let out a whimper of a plea at the gruff voice over the speaker. “Tell me.” And damn if he didn't move to obey.

“F-fuck...I miss the feel of your ass around my cock....fuck I miss it.” He rolled his hips in slow tight motions, picturing him kneeled in front of him, ready, always so fucking ready to take his cock. “Jesus, that once you straddled my cock and rode it like you'd found god...” He didn't hold back the moan that ripped from his throat, thumb pressing against the slit as Mickey's low groan made his hand grip harder. 

“You were always so tight. Shit, you always fucked yourself back on me and I never told you to stop even though it made it so hard not to cum” He shuddered, feeling the press of heat against his belly. He hoped like hell he didn't imagine the sound of flesh on flesh through the phone, biting his lip hard. 

“...miss your hands and your dick. And that time you let me give you a hummer in the back of the store” He felt blood hit his tongue as his teeth bit into the flesh. He tipped his head back with a dark grunt, fire sliding down his arms and legs, the pull of the alcohol too much to try and be reasonable. “I fucking miss your biting and clawing and how desperate you were...we were. Fucking was fighting and fighting might as well have been fucking too for how hard it made me.” 

His hand pulled fast, twisting and arching, swiping his palm over the leaking head as Mickey panted into the phone, grunting with the familiar sounds of wet flesh. 

“But fuck most of all I loved when you couldn't stop yourself and you kissed me, pushing into walls and doors, tearing our clothes off because I needed to be inside you and you needed me to fuck you into the god damn wall until we were both bruised.” His voice melted into a moan, the white pressing at the back of his eyes, unable to form coherent words at the sounds of Mickey fucking Milkovich touching himself over the phone. “Jesus...fuck...Mickey... _god damn_ ”

And then it happened. He eyes went wide in shock, hips snapped viciously of their own accord into his tight twisting hand just from one tiny fucking word. One word moaned out like it was the name of god himself and his breath all fled his body, orgasming crashing into him with numb toes and something like a cry on his lips. 

All because of one little fucking word.

“... _Ian_ ”

He collapsed back against the sheets, sucking in air, mind hazy from not just the alcohol. He rose a shaky hand to grip the phone again, body shuddering slowly in fading pleasure as it slinked over his limbs like water. He would question it in the hard light of morning but he could swear he heard a muttered _fuck_ before the line went dead. He twisted the blank screen into his view, blinking tiredly, completely worn out and sated for once, in so long. 

His alcohol raddled brain slid into oblivion long before he could over analyze.

**Author's Note:**

> Part one of a mutli-chaptered series of phone calls between our boys.


End file.
